


Non-Critical Damages

by Footloose_Poets



Series: Tony Built a Son [10]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Iron Dad, Parent Tony Stark, Spider-son, android!peter, creator!Tony, i hope this serves as a balm for someone else's soul too, listen i watched you-know-what and needed something that didn't wrench my heart from my body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 13:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose_Poets/pseuds/Footloose_Poets
Summary: “What the hell was that?”“You have to take it easy!  Lie back down.”It’s a nice try, for sure, but Tony isn’t letting Peter direct the conversation back to his minor head injury when there’s the more pressing matter of the kid'sseizing arm.---Peter learns that there's a wrong way to be considerate.





	Non-Critical Damages

**Author's Note:**

> Just something light and nice because I think we all need it right now, don't we?

Tony feels a tug on his mind, and he lets it pull him closer to the surface of the murky black fog that surrounds him.

_… need sleep or water, I’m fine._

It’s brighter near the surface – brighter than the thick in his brain can handle.  He sinks into the fog again.

_… not awake tomorrow I’m taking you home…_

He’s sure something important is going on above.  The tug is stronger this time, and loathe though he is to let it pull him towards the surface, he’s been in the fog for long enough.

_…please hurry up._

Tony opens his eyes, and has to squeeze them shut immediately as the white is blinding.

“… Dad?  Can you hear me?”

He certainly can – almost too loudly.  He tries to say as much, but all he hears from himself is a slurred mumble.

“Is it the lights?  I’ll turn them off.”

It’s Peter.  Suddenly the orange glow behind Tony’s eyelids disappears and he braves another attempt at opening his eyes.  This time, he can make out a darkened room, the only light coming in from underneath the door.  He’s in a bed in the centre, and soon he’s almost certain he’s in a private infirmary room of the Avengers Facility.

“… Pete?” he croaks.

His son leans in from the chair beside the bed.

“I’m here, Dad,” he grins.  “You’ve been out for almost eleven hours.  I was worried you’d damaged your brain.”

That confuses Tony more than he’s sure Peter intended.  “My brain…”

“I couldn’t read any damage but I thought maybe my scanners were faulty,” Peter continues, seeming to have missed that Tony is still several steps behind him.  “Bruce said you probably just needed to catch up on sleep.  He wouldn’t let me try and wake you to make sure so I’ve just been waiting and it was horrible…”

Tony’s groggy attention is distracted by trying to recall what had happened.  The lab… oh yes: an explosion after Tony had been too confident in the precision of his own hands and chosen not to use a mechanical arm—

Peter’s hugging him.

“I’m glad you’re finally awake.”

Tony absently raises a hand to Peter’s hair, mind moving back to eleven hours ago.

Wait.

Peter had been in the lab too.  Peter had been in the _explosion—_

There’s a sudden jolt from the android leaning over him and Peter backs away.

“Sorry!” he says, grabbing his right arm with his left and holding it against his body as it twitches violently again.

“ _What the hell was that?_ ” Tony sits up but his head throbs in protest.  He takes a moment to steady himself.

“You have to take it easy, Dad!” Peter tells him.  “Lie back down.”

It’s a nice try, for sure, but Tony isn’t letting his son direct the conversation back to his minor head injury when there’s the more pressing matter of Peter’s _seizing arm_.

“No.  Tell me more about _that_ ,” he says.

“But your _brain—_ ”

“… Hello,” a voice at the door interrupts.

Suddenly Tony’s world is ablaze in fluorescent and he recoils, shielding his eyes from the blinding light with a word he’s told Peter several times not to use.

“ _Why,_ Banner?” he cringes.

“Sorry,” he hears Bruce say.  “It was going to happen eventually.”

Slowly, Tony eases his abused eyes open just enough that he can make out Bruce’s vague figure as it moves to his bedside.

“I heard you were awake and thought I’d come check up,” Bruce adds.

Tony blinks at him a few times.  “Fine.”

“How do you feel?”

“Blind.”

“Because of the light?”

“Yes.”

“Headache?”

“A bit.”

“Any nausea?  Numbness?  Do you remember what happened?”

“The good answers to all of those questions.”

Bruce nods.  He leans in, inspecting Tony’s eyes for a moment before he’s apparently satisfied.

“Okay.  You should be safe to go home tomorrow, as long as you take it easy tonight and don’t operate any heavy machinery.  Normally it would be really bad that you were unconscious all day after a head injury but Peter told me you’d been awake for forty-two hours before that, so I don’t think it was the concussion.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Tony says.  He knows a real medical professional would be keeping him under observation and testing him for traumatic brain injury, so he’s glad Bruce seems to understand how well that would go down and hasn’t bothered.

Something slams against the doorframe and Tony sees Peter trying to leave while his arm flails again.

“Peter designed and built by Tony Stark, _you’re grounded if you don’t get back here in three seconds._ ”

“Yes, Dad,” Peter replies, but _walks right out the door_.

Holy shit.  “That’s _five days_ for you, mister!” Tony shouts after him.

“I’m going to my room now!” he hears from down the corridor.

It’s silent in the infirmary room for a full minute after that.

“Okay…” Bruce whispers.  “So… just take it easy, Tony.”

“Will do, Uncle Bruce.”

“Please don’t call me that,” he says as he walks out.

Tony eases back onto his pillow and rubs his temples.

It’s almost an hour before Attempt Number Two.

_Is it a short?_

Tony waits for a reply to his text.  When he doesn’t receive one in sixty seconds – a generous wait considering texts are sent directly to Peter’s internal receiver and he can reply almost instantaneously – he tries again.

_Power surges?_

Nothing.

_Hydraulic fault?_

Nothing again.

Tony sends three more messages each a minute apart and still receives no reply.

Maybe he should eat something.  When was his last meal?  It’s a full three minutes of searching the living quarters’ kitchen before his phone buzzes and he scrambles to check it faster than he cares to admit.

_Are you resting?_ is all Peter’s message says.

_I’m being restful_ , Tony replies.

He gets no response, so tries his luck finishing some leftover risotto he found in the fridge that doesn’t look dangerously old.

_I’ll deduct three days from your grounding if you tell me what’s wrong with your arm._

Peter’s reply comes in only thirty seconds this time: _I don’t know._

_What do you mean you don’t know?_

Once again there’s radio silence.  This is getting very old, very fast.  Tony glares at his risotto as he continues to eat, willing his bowl to empty faster because God, this is ridiculous.

He finally finishes, all but tosses his bowl into the sink and marches to Peter’s room.  He gives three knocks and opens the door.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he demands.

Peter bolts upright from where he was lying on his bed but doesn’t have a chance to answer before that damn arm twitches again.  He turns away from the door, hiding it from sight.

“Peter,” Tony warns.

“I was telling the truth, I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” he hears Peter murmur.  “But it’s not critical – I promise.”

Peter lies down and rolls onto his side.  His body jerks as his arm twitches under him.  Tony notices that the television is on, the pause menu of a game onscreen.  The PlayStation controller is on the floor.

It’s snapped in two.

“You’ve got a headache,” Peter says, still facing the far wall.  “You should take an aspirin.”

Tony rolls his eyes and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Has your arm been playing up since the lab?” he asks.

Peter doesn’t reply – nothing new.  Tony sighs and reaches forward to run his fingers through the android’s hair.  He’s not leaving until he gets an answer, but this is obviously going to take some patience.

“I fell on it during the explosion,” Peter finally says.  “My diagnostics aren’t reading anything wrong with it but it hasn’t stopped twitching.”

As if to emphasise the point, his arm jerks again.  This time, Peter curls around it with a short, low hum.

“I was waiting for you to wake up so you could fix it.  I can’t stand it.”

Tony keeps stroking his hair.  He waits.

“But you were out for so long that I got worried,” Peter continues after a moment.  “You’ve got a head injury and you need to look after it or you could hurt it permanently.  My arm can be fixed even if it does get worse so… it doesn’t take priority.”

“It’s been a pain though, hasn’t it?” Tony says, glancing back at the broken game controller.  He recalls the loud bang Peter’s arm made against the doorframe earlier.

Peter finally rolls over to face him, holding the offending limb firmly against his body.  “It really has, Dad.”

Those big, miserable brown eyes leave no doubt in Tony’s mind that Peter is being absolutely earnest.  He sighs, lying down and placing a gentle hand on his android’s arm.  He rubs his thumb over it and it jerks again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

Peter looks away.  “You always fix me before anything else.  I wanted to make sure you prioritised yourself this time.”

“Okay.” Tony nods.  “That was a nice sentiment but your execution was really shit, you know that?”

That earns a tiny smile from Peter.  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Yeah, I know.  You’re forgiven but you’re grounded for breaking your PlayStation.”

Peter sits up.  “It was only the controller!  And it was an accident!”

“I’m still gonna be out fifty dollars to replace it.  Money doesn’t grow on trees, kiddo,” Tony teases, easing himself up again.

“How many days?” Peter asks, slumping.

“One plus whatever you’re up to for the arm.”

Peter gives a mournful moan and falls back onto the bed.  Tony has to stop himself from grinning too smugly.

“So, what are you going to do better next time?” he asks.

Peter’s arm jerks again before he replies.  “I’m… going to tell you when I get damaged?”

“Are you?”

“Yes.  Even if you’re hurt.”

“Thank you,” Tony says.  He can imagine how hard it was for his ridiculously selfless son to agree to that, so it’s enough.

Peter sits up and scoots in for a hug, and Tony’s only too happy to oblige.  It’s interrupted, of course, by a violent twitch.

“Okay, we’re going to stop pretending I’m getting any more rest and we’re fixing that arm _right now_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This AU has a dedicated blog that can be found [here](https://friendly-neighborhood-android.tumblr.com/).


End file.
